The Charity

by Connie Johnson Hambley

  “No. No. I can assure you that I am interested only for myself. I want to keep it as a horse farm.”

  “Dear child! That is just music to mah ears! But now listen. Ya’ll just sound like such a sweet young thing. I have had many lookers at that property with dreams of horses. One after the other dropped away as soon as they saw the land. Just one big flat part and the rest is nothing but mountainside. There’s nothing to breeze a horse on if you were looking to set up a track and really nothing flat enough for a workout ring. I have just trekked out to that spot so often on a wild goose chase that I want to make sure you know what it is right from the start. You know that I am only thinking of your own well being, you sounding like such a sweetie an’ all. Well, I just happen to have another listing for a great farm just two towns over in Cumberland. That town is farther up the plateau and already has a nice farm or two going over there.”

  Jessica was a bit confused by Lainely. Was she trying to sell the property or guard it from her? “Oh, Lainely, you are so nice to think of me. I would like to see your uncle’s farm. Do you have any time tomorrow?”

  “Well, let’s see what I can fit here.” Sounds of pages being turned crackled through the telephone. “Yes, Sweetie, yes. I can show it to you tomorrow around noon. I’ll drive. I would hate to see you get stuck on that path they call a road in any little car. Now then, where are you coming from and I can give you directions to my office?”

  “Good, I’m glad I don’t have to wait. I’m staying at the Garrison Inn on Main Street.”

  “Ah! Well Dahling, that is just a skip and a jump to here. Why don’t I swing by at noon and pick you up and we’ll just go on straight from there? I am just so thrilled that you’re at the Garrison’s! I’ll just bet that Tabor talked your ear off. He just loves meeting people who are not from around here. You just sound like such a nice young thing. Did Tabor just rattle on about everything or what? I swear that man can talk until a cat grows horns if you give him half a chance.”

  “Gee, no. I guess he knew that I was kind of tired. I’m sure that we’ll have another chance to talk while I’m here. Thank you, Lainely. I’m looking forward to meeting you. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Miss Whi-yat. I am so looking forward to our afternoon tomorrow.”

  Jessica’s heart skipped a beat as she heard her name. It took a moment before she remembered that a southern drawl made her adopted surname sound too much like her old name. She was going to have to get used to that.

  She replaced the phone in its cradle and shook her head free of the conversation. It was a bit ironic that Lainely thought Tabor was a talker. A faint ringing of the telephone at the front desk could be heard. Word travels fast in this town.

  Jessica took a long hot shower and stretched out on the bed. She was exhausted after driving non-stop for the past four days to get here. Her inner clock told her it was time to move on and the benefits of the life, or rather lives, she was leading had grown thin. Drifting between being on ski patrol for the winter and a ranch hand for the summer had suited her just fine. As a ski bum no one cared where Jessica learned to ski, where she was from or how she learned first aid. They just wanted to know if she was a good skier and could hold her own. It was easy to avoid developing close relationships that demanded more of her than what she was willing to give. Seasons changed. So did her work.

  Life on Saddle String Ranch had been great. The ranch was a diamond in the rough. Its horses were first class, and it was run with the firm and knowing hand of Jake Masterson, the foreman. But she had stayed at the ranch for nearly two and a half years straight this time and people had begun to feel comfortable enough with her to ask her questions about herself. She knew too much about breeding and training horses than to have just been a casual participant in the horse world. She tried to make her experienced answers sound like good hunches or just something she had heard once before. But after she had turned several troublesome horses into good solid stock, Jake’s curiosity reached its peak. The pat answers she responded with soon grew to be insufficient. Jake tolerated Jessica’s, or rather Tess White’s, on-again and off-again employment with Saddle String because she knew how to make a lot of money in the horse trade. He eventually offered her a steady job as a stable hand to keep her from running off each winter.

  She smiled as she remembered the amazed look on Jake’s face time and again when she would sell the horses she bought for three or four times their purchase price after she re-trained them. Of course, Jessica made sure that Jake’s animals were giving him a good profit as well. Jessica helped Jake a great deal, but she poured her heart and soul into the animals she traded. And it showed. She had saved up some money from trading horses, working as a ski patroller and doing some instructing, and waiting tables. Now she wanted to buy a farm and live a quiet life.

  The last piece of the puzzle came when she finally looked at the contents of Bridget’s rumpled brown envelope. What she found were several bank accounts in different names with explicit directions on how to access the funds. Each account held a fairly good amount of money and could be accessed through various passbooks that were included in the envelope. It was not a fortune, but certainly enough to set her up. Two instructions were made clear again and again. The accounts had to have at least one transaction within a seven-year period or they would be considered “dormant” accounts and be at risk for seizure by the states as “Abandoned Property.” The second instruction was once they were accessed the accounts had to be closed and funds moved to other banks—preferably in another state and under a different name. There were other documents and instructions that did not make sense to Jessica. She did not think about why her aunt took such actions. She could not.

  It had taken her a while to review the envelope’s contents and then a while longer to figure out what to do with it. When she heard about the farm, she set things in motion so she could buy it and still have a little left over to get herself established.

  The timing to buy was good. Her acquired personas had been gradually closing the gap and becoming more and more like her old self. Hair grew long and blonde and the love she felt for horses was no longer pushed aside as something ‘bad’ from the past or masked behind lies. With her own farm, she would not feel obligated to answer probing questions, and she could carve out a normal life.

  If she got it at a good enough price, she would still have sufficient money to buy a few good horses and bring them through one year. By that time, she could cover expenses by selling one or two of the better ones and training horses for other people. If her plan worked, she would not have to run again. That sounded like a very good idea.

  Jessica woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. The sunlight came into the room in broad beams and the shadows of the towering pine trees danced across the hardwood floor. She took a deep breath and smelled the welcoming mustiness of the inn mixed with the aroma of strong coffee.

  She changed quickly into a clean pair of jeans, turtleneck and a sweater and pulled back her hair. She laughed to herself as she cleaned up her boots and put them on. If anything was going to mark her as an outsider, it was her beloved pair of cowboy boots. She thought the pointed toe and the slope stacked heel were not the typical footwear southerners wore. If that was not enough, the boots were made from the scaly skins of several rattlesnakes. She built herself as a quirky recluse from her feet up.

  Following the smell of the coffee, she left her room and made her way downstairs. The inn was a gracious old colonial home. Wide pine floors were accented with small dark marks where hand forged nails had been driven into them over 200 years ago. The expanse of the floors was covered with well-worn oriental rugs in colors that were still rich even after many years of service. The hearths were of glazed tiles crowned with gracefully carved mantelpieces. All of the furnishings were in keeping with the period of the home. A highboy in the front hall acted as an information resource by holdin
g brochures of local establishments and attractions. Bookshelves held many picture albums of happy guests and scenes of people enjoying a hiking trip in the mountains or leisurely drifting down the river on a raft. Tarnished trophies and pictures of many riders on horseback filled other shelves.

  Eventually, she found herself in the inn’s main living room. The comfortable looking, if not worn, furnishings fit well into the smallish room. The back bookcase had been altered into a serving area for the morning breakfast. The long sideboard extended from the bookcase and held an assortment of breads, local fruits and warmers containing various concoctions of eggs. Jessica took a large mug from the nook in the bookcase, filled it with hot coffee and helped herself to the food.

  “Oh! Miss Whi-yat! I do hope you slept well. You just looked so tired yesterday!”

  Jessica’s heart skipped a beat and then calmed down. She realized she had to get used to hearing her name in a drawl. “Mr. Garrison! Yes, thank you, I did sleep well. That’s a comfortable room.” Jessica looked for and found a copy of the local newspaper and made her way to the wingback chair in the far corner of the room.

  “Why thank you, Miss. Thank you! You are so kind. Just everyone who comes here absolutely loves it. Time and time again I hear people talk about the rest they’ve gotten here. It is so gratifying.”

  Jessica buried her nose in the newspaper and barely looked up. “Hum? Oh yes. Gratifying.” She took a long, noisy sip of her coffee and resumed looking at the paper. She was relieved that the chatty innkeeper took the hint. Jessica didn’t like being rude, but if what Lainely told her was true, she just did not want to get too tied up in a conversation with a town gossip.

  The newspaper contained the usual stories for a small town. Columns on the spring plantings and flower shows hinted at the beginning of social events. Other articles recapped past seasons’ harvest and fall festivals that were obviously the pinnacle of the year. Notices focused on asking for volunteers for the upcoming fall hunts promised to have the whole county on horseback following baying hounds. Another article focused on the anticipation for the Harvest Hunter Pace. A pace, Jessica knew, was a timed event over a given cross-country course that offered experienced riders and horses an exacting challenge of strategy and skill. Winning the pace was a coveted prize and secured a person’s place in the highest tiers of equestrian esteem. Jessica made a mental note to find out more about it.

  The paper contained other articles of local interest and Jessica was surprised to find a gossip column. She thought that the locals would get most of their news on other people from osmosis or Tabor Garrison and not have to go to the trouble to read about it. After reviewing the column, though, it was obvious that it was written for the people who summered in Perc. References to past events or to parties that happened over the winter in locations like Palm Springs or a tropical island dotted the column. Electra Lavielle, the author of the column, was apparently a Perc insider who took great care in balancing the public and private lives of those she wrote about.

  A mixture of voices brought Jessica out of her readings. Several other guests came into the living room and happily made plans for their day. The women were all very close friends and took delight in teasing one another about what this Danish would do to that outfit or another. They all had the look of comfortable money and were obviously quite happy to be where they were and with each other.

  Jessica stifled the familiar stab of isolation and rose to get a second cup of coffee. She could feel the delighted gasps of the women as they took turns catching hidden looks with raised eyebrows at her decidedly dressed down appearance. They suddenly made Jessica feel too tall and clumsy. She decided to finish her coffee while exploring the inn.

  Wrapping her hands tightly around the coffee mug, Jessica drank in the feel of the place. She liked it. The touch and feel of the inn were so similar to what she had grown up with in New England. Looking down the street through the small paned windows, she had a certain sense of recognition and connection to the old town. It was all familiar enough to feel right and welcoming, and far enough away to feel safe. She could feel herself being drawn into its charms. She silently hoped that maybe, just maybe, this could be the place for her. Jessica tried to keep her emotions at bay. She had felt limited touches of belonging to places over the past years and had learned not to invest herself anywhere too heavily. She did not want Tess to get too carried away in placing down roots. Self-preservation was more important.

  Promptly at noon a bright red Land Rover pulled up in front of the inn. A woman about Jessica’s age and height with thick dark hair and lively brown eyes bounded out of the vehicle and up the steps with her manicured hand outstretched.

  “You must be Tess! Well, I am certainly pleased as anything to meet you.” Lainely Smythe was in full swing. There was nothing she liked better than meeting the new person in town before anyone else did. Her voice oozed southern sweetness. “Why I hope I didn’t keep you waiting here outside too long? Tabor said you were a pretty one. He sure was right! There is just a little remaining chill in the air, but it feels good, doesn’t it? I just love this time of year. You can just smell the home fires burning. The sun, bright blue sky and everything is just so fresh!”

  Jessica smiled at her companion and fought hard not to roll her eyes. Lainely would have felt right at home with the coven of women still snacking on Danish inside the inn. “Spring is great but fall has always been a favorite of mine too. I used to love all of the colors against the blue sky.”

  Both women climbed into the Land Rover. “Oh, well Sweetheart! You must be from up North then if you like the colors so much. That and the funny way you talk make you a dead giveaway for a Yankee.” Lainely laughed at her own joke and glanced at her passenger as they drove down the main street out of town. “Oh now, Sweetheart! I didn’t mean anything by that. You talk just fine. I was just teasing.”

  Jessica had met a few people like Lainely that seemed to possess an uncanny ‘people radar.’ They were able to place a person on a geographic and social scale within seconds. Jessica knew she had to be on her toes whenever Lainely was near.

  “Yes. I’ve spent some time in northern New England. I was really referring to Colorado and its yellow aspens.”

  “Oh Darlin’, the colors here are pretty too, but they just don’t peak up the way New England does. You know, my Uncle Milliard took me on a trip to New Hampshire once, and I was just bowled over by the beauty of the place in the fall. Uncle Mill just loved mountains and rivers and pastures and everything. He was just happiest when he was out in the middle of nowhere doing his own thing. I guess that’s why he built his farm where he did.”

  The road they were traveling on led northward out of town along the valley. Not driving, Jessica was free to sightsee. She was impressed with the Pine Mountains as they sprouted abruptly upward. They might not have been as impressive as the Uinta Mountains she had grown accustomed to, but they were still steep, craggy and beautiful. The road curved gently to follow the angle of the river to the east. Further beyond the river, another spine of mountain sloped skyward into impressive walls of forest. They were driving out past acres of pastureland crisscrossed with white wooden fences and dotted with large manor houses. Horses grazed contentedly on the grass in some pastures. In others, cows munched happily in small groups.

  The road turned suddenly to the right, away from the river, and began a steep climb. A chill grabbed the air and Jessica reluctantly closed her window. Up until that point she was content to have the clean air rush past her face.

  “You know, it really is just so amazin’ how these mountains get so cold. You’d a think that we’d stay warm here all year long, but this neck of the woods just gets pocketed right down with some cold weather! In fact, Uncle Mill used to say God saved some of Canada’s air just for us so we would feel closer to our neighbors! Isn’t that a hoot? Oops! Hang on, Darlin’! Here we go!”

  The Land
Rover swayed and bounced sharply as Lainely negotiated another switchback turn. Jessica had hardly noticed the change in grade as they had driven on, but now she realized that the engine labored in a lower gear. She was used to rough mountain roads in Utah, so she attributed the jostling ride more to her driver than the terrain. She remarked that she had not seen a house in a while.

  “Well, now, Sweetheart. That’s right. This part of town is mostly protected land. One family or another over the generations had granted their land to the town for preservation. So the homesteads you do find out this way are from the original settling families. Perc is real proud of its mountainside. Why you can stand anywhere in the valley look up at the mountains and see the same thing our forefathers saw. Just beautiful, wide-open forest. It’s so striking when you compare our little valley to some of the others up the river. Why, do you know what they let happen up there? Some poor, misguided folks entrusted their family lands to land rapers! Those poor folk just stood by while some coal mine or lumber mill leveled their beautiful hills. Such a crying shame! It was certainly lucky for us that our town fathers had the wisdom and the foresight to stop anything like that from happening to us. And now we just have a gem of a valley all to ourselves. And the seasonal folk, of course. But mostly ourselves.”

  Jessica only half listened to the patter of her guide. This is one town that did not like outsiders, she concluded, and she was just as happy that meant she would be left alone.

  The road finally leveled out and entered a large plateau. Both sides were flanked by a three-rail, white wooden fence. The fence divided up the expanse into several sections, each filled with waist-high grasses. Lainely turned up a graveled drive, stopped in front of a large white barn and walked to the center of the large circular drive.